Petrichor, is my temptress,
She is water, she is storm, she is torrent,
She passes as the winds change.

And where some persist distained...or abhorrent.
I stand in love with her,
without warrant.

My lady’s beauty is in her song,
not in taste, nor sight.
she wakes me in mine morn,
and whispers lullabies’ upon my night.

Generally her voice is peaceful,
a reminiscing, calming, bliss.
although occasionally she may project.
As screams ring from her bellowing lips.

She carries with her a scent,
her passing evokes a mornings dew.
leaving everything in tact in her movements,
yet, everything smells anew.

Like a flood, or storm, or plague.
but yet...never inflicting fear.
she destroys, she drowns,
She stands proud,
And never, ever, insincere.

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Author guidance for This poem

I thought I should write a poem about one of my favourite words. Petrichor is the scent of rain on dry ground, and well... I hate rain, but I love petrichor, so this is essentially my inner conflict on how I feel.

I know it's a bit melodramatic, but I do tend to sensationalise the tiniest things - say, a dead leaf, or the aftermath of storms...

Feel free to add poems about your own favourite words!

updated Apr 6 '11 by Miserabilia